Hopping to Conclusions
by M. Rig
Summary: When Brennan catches Booth at the diner with another woman, she decides that all's fair in date-destruction.
1. Chapter 1

**Legal disclaimer: I don't own anything Bones-related, except for my skeletal system. : )**

Angela had been waiting at the bar over half an hour when Brennan finally showed up—not that she minded, or was surprised. Angela was well-acquainted with her friend's lack of interest in socializing and expected a certain amount of foot-dragging from the brilliant scientist. She had long ago realized that the best way to be friends with Brennan was to simply relax, ignore the unintentional rudenesses, celebrate her best qualities, and order an extra drink while inevitably waiting.

It was this extra drink that Angela extended to Brennan as soon as she sat down at the bar, looking more irritated than usual.

"What is this?" Brennan asked suspiciously, eying the magenta-colored liquid.

"You know, I drank half of it and I'm not completely sure. But it's very good. I've been using it as a chaser for my vodka neat," Angela replied, sloshing a small tumbler of liquor towards Brennan.

"Since when do you drink vodka straight up?" Brennan asked.

"New Year's resolution: be more efficient," the artist grinned.

Brennan rolled her eyes and took a tentative sip of the fruity concoction, finding it pungently reminiscent of strawberry lip gloss. Scowling, she set the glass down and caught the bartender's attention, pointing to Angela's vodka and nodding. "I think I'll join you in that vodka and let this drink ferment a little bit more," she said with her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"So what's with the giant frown, Bren?"

"It's nothing," Brennan replied, accepting her new drink from the bartender. "On my way over here, I just... you know, nevermind. Maybe my New Year's resolution should be to... I don't know, to just let things _be _the way they are and not... I don't know..."

Brennan looked up to find an amused expression in Angela's warm brown eyes. "You really do have a succinct way with words. Good thing you're a writer."

Brennan smiled at her friend's gentle teasing and slugged back a large portion of her drink, allowing the searing liquid to singe the back of her throat.

"I saw Booth," she rephrased carefully. "On my way here, in the diner, on a date. He didn't see me, I was just walking past."

Angela's eyes widened in surprise. She felt an immediate surge of anger on behalf of her friend's feelings, and an all-too-familiar sense of frustration at her favorite would-be couple for their continued romantic failings. "Are you sure?" she asked sensibly.

"I saw them through the window, Ange. I'm not an expert on... reading people the way you are, but even I know a date when I see one. He looked... happy, and... very engaged in the conversation. I only saw her from the back but she was _blonde,_" Brennan spat bitterly.

Angela subtly flagged the bartender down to keep the drinks coming and pulled her chair closer to Bren's. "But, you can't jump to conclusions, Bren. Maybe it was something else."

"It doesn't even matter, Angela," she continued angrily. "There's no reason it should bother me that he's on a date. I mean, yes, I would think that friends should keep each other informed of their personal lives to _some _extent. But... I shouldn't even care."

Angela took a deep breath and searched for patience. It seemed that she and Brennan had had this conversation a thousand times, in a thousand different settings, with very little progress in the dialogue. If self-awareness was a class, Brennan would be failing.

"Sweetie, if we're going to talk about this, I need you to do me a favor and ignore that idea for now, okay? Just take that idea that you shouldn't care about Booth's personal life and just... just table it. Throw it aside, just for now."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not a saint, Bren, and I have my limits. You two are exhausting, you know that?"

Brennan peered at her curiously, clearly not understanding Angela's veiled criticism.

"Okay, it's like in rhetoric. You've presented an argument and I fail to concede the point, so we'll table it for later and continue on to the next supposition of your argument," Angela explained.

Brennan brightened immediately. "Of course, if you prefer."

"So whether or not you _should _care, the point is that you saw Booth in the diner with another woman, and for _whatever reason, _it's put you in an unhappy mood," Angela prompted.

"Yes, precisely. And I've been thinking that maybe what upsets me is how much he's always poked his nose into _my_ personal life, but then I just catch him running around town, _dating--_" she waved her hand irritably, just missing Angela's drink, "--as if, as if it's a double standard."

Angela nodded slowly, the alcohol in her bloodstream encouraging her to bait her friend more than was perfectly ethical. "I think you're onto something here, Bren. It's not fair how he sabotages your dates and then sneaks around behind your back dating whoever he wants."

"Sabotage!" Brennan shouted triumphantly. "Sneaking! Yes, that's exactly it, Angela! I knew you would understand!"

Angela fought the urge to roll her eyes. But so be it. If being purposefully misleading was the only way to get Brennan to open up, she had no moral qualms doing it. Besides, venting was healthy.

So she pressed even further. "And just think of all the times he showed up at crashed one of your dates. God, it must have been so embarrassingfor you. I can't even imagine. And now here he is..."

"You know what, Ange? You're right!" Brennan exclaimed, polishing off her drink a tad too quickly. "This isn't about feelings, this is about fairness."

"Fair's fair!" Angela echoed, sliding the next round in front of her friend.

They drank in silence for a few moments while Brennan mused. Angela was elated to have gotten even this far; it wasn't often that Brennan cracked the seal on her carefully bottled self-control enough to complain about anything veering towards emotional territory. Angela shook her head in sympathy and watched the play of emotions flitting across Brennan's face. Anger, frustration, sadness, and then something that looked dangerously like determination settling in her clear eyes.

"I should just go over there and storm his date."

Angela's surprised laughter bubbled over at the mental image this conjured. "You should, Bren! You should just go in there all commando and flip the table over."

Brennan laughed then too, at the absurd idea of throwing a tantrum because her partner had the temerity to enjoy an unsanctioned dinner. "I've always wanted to throw a glass of water in a man's face, like in old movies," she admitted.

Dabbing the tears from her eyes, Angela giggled. "Well if you're going to do that, you might need another round of fortification first. Liquid courage and all that..."

"Damn right," Brennan growled, throwing back her drink. "Where is that bartender?"

Angela laughed gleefully. "You might want to slow it down there, datecrasher. You'll need your coordination if you plan to karate chop his date in the throat."

"It's hardly rational to blame _her,_" Brennan reasoned. "If anyone deserves a karate chop to his perfectly formed throat, it's Booth."

Smiling, Angela let her friend's slip-up pass unmentioned. "Doesn't this feel good, hon? To vent? You know, get it all out there?"

Brennan shrugged, but couldn't erase the small smile from her face. "I do feel a little bit better, but I think it's mostly from imagining the look on his face when I would sweep all the dishes onto the floor, _including _his pie."

Angela threw her head back in laughter. "Not the pie!"

"Fruit, all over the floor, like a massacre," Brennan laughed. "Cherry filling dripping off the table edge... Paula would be so mad."

"Paula?"

"The night manager at the diner," Brennan explained. "And that's the other thing. If he has to go on a date with some flowzy--"

"_Floozy,_" Angela interrupted.

"--floozy, he should have the decency to take her somewhere else." Brennan shook her head quickly, as if being chased by a pesky mosquito. "Nevermind, that's irrational. The diner isn't a territory. It's not as if..."

"As if you peed in the corner?"

"What?" Brennan asked. "For what possible reason would I... oh." Smiling, she shook her head at Angela's occasional vulgarity.

"Listen, Bren. You need to let some steam off tonight. We'll just sit here, relax, have some more medicine, and you can keep venting. By the time you leave for home, they'll probably have left the diner, so you won't have to see them again."

Angela's point hit Brennan like a snowball to the neck. As awful as catching Booth on a date was, she hadn't even stopped to ponder what might happen _after _the date. She felt cold shudders creeping up her spine as the realization sunk in. Interrupting Booth's date suddenly seemed not only plausible, but necessary. There was no real reason why, she decided, but the thought of Booth taking another woman home left her feeling unbearably bleak, and the situation must be avoided at all cost.

"I'm going to do it," she announced, staring straight ahead with a pugilistic tilt to her chin.

"What?!" Angela squealed.

"I'm going over there," Brennan clarified, digging through her purse for her wallet. "You're right. Fair's fair. And I need to go now."

"Woah, Bren," Angela cautioned, laying a hand on her friend's arm. "I was helping you vent, not actually suggesting... You need to think this through. This isn't necessarily a good plan."

Brennan dropped a fold of bills onto the bar and drained the remnants of her third vodka. "The drinks are on me tonight, Ange," she said. "As usual, you should know that I value and appreciate your counsel."

Angela shook her head in concern. "Sweetie, you've had too much to drink and--"

"--I'm not driving, and it's just a few blocks walk."

"--and, and an eye for an eye isn't a good personal philosophy. Remember our talk about the golden rule?"

"I've got to hurry, Ange. I've decided this is the optimal course of action."

Hurrying from the bar, Brennan left her friend sputtering helplessly in protest. Just before the exit, she had second thoughts and returned quickly to Angela.

"Thanks for listening," she said quietly, pressing a quick kiss to the artist's cheek.

Angela could only watch in indecision as her friend once again left the bar. "Call me tomorrow!" she shouted at Brennan's departing, and far too determined, shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Brennan wrenched the door of the diner open, she'd had time to plan her course of action. The cold air and brisk walk had helped to clarify just how correct she was in ruining Booth's date. She'd reviewed all the times that he had done the same, revisited how low she'd felt when he'd cuffed one of her dates right in front of a whole restaurant (even if he _was _a murderer), and remembered every belittling comment he'd ever made about how incapable she was of choosing acceptable men. If blood could rationally boil, she realized, it would be accurate to say that hers was now.

As she crossed the restaurant to their booth—to _her _Booth, in _their _booth—she caught sight of him leaning across the table laughing at something the woman had said. He was smiling that warm, genuine smile that she sometimes fantasized belonged to her alone, and the extent of his betrayal felt final.

"Bones!" he called, a look of surprise wiping his smile away.

"Don't call me Bones!" she shouted snottily, for the first time in years. "I can see that you're on a date so I'll make this brief. I just wanted to stop in and do this," she announced loudly, unconcerned at the curious faces of other patrons turning in their direction. She reached for his water glass and without pausing, dashed it full in his face, her righteously smug expression meeting his flabbergasted one as he sputtered and tried to wipe his face dry.

"Bones, what the hell?!" he roared.

"Now that I have your attention, Booth, I feel I should remind you that dating can be quite dangerous, and it's only right for a _partner _to look out for the other. Have you run a background check on this woman? She could be a... an embezzler for all you know!" she hurled the first criminal occupation that came to mind.

He shook his head threateningly, his eyes dark with confusion and anger. "Bones..."

"No, Booth! Turnaback is fair play. You've ruined exactly how many of my dates...? And now you're enough of a hypocrite to believe that the same rules don't apply to you? That you should never be embarrassed in public?"

"Would you listen to me for a second?!" he hissed, starting to get up from his seat.

Trying her best not to be intimidated, she shouted another thing bound to make him angry: "I should have slept with Ian!"

"What?!" he looked incredulous.

"And you, you should know that..." Brennan turned to face the woman for the first time, shocked to see the wrinkles that indicated a woman of a more advanced age. "Well, I can only conclude that you seem to be _far_ too old for him," she finished with an arrogant turn of her chin.

"Okay, Bones, that is absolutely _enough. _You're making a scene and being ridiculous, and my clothes are soaked, and I'd like to introduce you to my aunt Lucille," he hissed through a clenched jaw.

Brennan felt the floor drop out from underneath her, as the diner patrons collectively gasped and clucked their tongues at her foolishness. Her face instantly heated with shame, and she felt an overwhelming desire to turn back time; she wanted it so desperately that it seemed almost possible. She screwed her eyes shut and waited for the universe to reverse itself around her, but opened them to find that time had cruelly ignored her plea.

"I'm...so...sorry," she whispered, ashen-faced.

Several moments of silence descended, as neither Booth nor his aunt seemed in a hurry to accept her apology. All three of them were excruciatingly aware of the rapt attention being paid to them; Brennan felt awkwardly aware of her own posture, of her wind-disheveled hair and passion-tinted cheeks. Paula broke the horrible spell by bustling over with a stack of napkins for Booth. Her motion seemed to restore some sense of normalcy to the diner, as people reluctantly turned back to their meals, slow to turn away in case the show might continue. A faint smattering of snuffled laughter punctuated her humiliation.

"You must be Temperance," Lucille said quietly, holding out a small hand to shake.

Brennan accepted it gratefully, painfully aware of how crazy the woman must consider her. "I'm sorry I ruined your dinner..." she mumbled, examining her own feet studiously, "and also for calling you old."

Lucille raised an eyebrow uncomfortably and gathered her coat. "I think I'm going to just leave, Seeley. This was, ah...nice," she said tepidly.

"I'll call you," he replied quietly, nodding.

As Lucille squeezed out of the booth, she nervously gave Brennan a wide berth and hurried towards the door.

"It was nice... meeting you..." Brennan called after her awkwardly.

She looked down at her partner, who was pointedly avoiding her gaze. Slipping into the seat recently vacated by Lucille, she swallowed a tight knot of apprehension and tried to catch his gaze.

"How angry are you?" she asked quietly.

He gave no indication that he'd heard her, or that he was even aware she was there, as he pressed a nest of napkins carefully into his lap.

"I'm really truly sorry, Booth," she murmured. "I was with Angela, and we were drinking, and I was under the misapprehension that..." her voice faltered as the explanation suddenly seemed threadbare and foolish. She sat across from her partner with shame and regret coloring all of her vision; she was genuinely sorry not only for ruining his dinner with his aunt but also once again proving herself an unworthy friend by bungling another social situation so horribly. She never would have done this a few years ago, never would have indulged in such an infantile outburst. It seemed that, despite her friends' well-meant advice, wading into the pool of human emotions was more likely to drown her than delight her. Sighing, she set her head down on her folded arms and wondered desolately what she could possibly say next.

Booth watched her from the corner of his eyes, still trying to decide how to handle the shocking spectacle of Brennan acting like a scorned lover. It wasn't that he'd never seen such a display from a woman—in his younger years, he'd been on the receiving end of more than one cattish slap, some of which he'd deserved—but _this_ was wholly unexpected and he didn't begin to know what to think.

On one hand, his ego had puffed up as soon as he detected the possessive light of jealousy in her eyes. If Bones was starting to see him as _hers,_ he was more than happy to be possessed. On the other hand, the glass of water currently sopping into his boxers had dashed any charitable feelings he might have fostered at the moment. But then there was the undeniable fact that his partner was heart-achingly adorable when she was mad. Even now, her face deflated with remorse, he couldn't help but appreciate the childishly tender curve of her pouty lips.

It was a small hiccup that escaped those lips that decided it for him; his poor Bones was clearly a bit tipsy. After all, she wasn't a very experienced drinker and had apparently been subjected to the twin influences of alcohol and Angela before crashing his dinner. He decided then to forgive her, inwardly wincing at the absurd idea that he'd ever pretended it was even a question.

"My mother's sister," he explained quietly. "I don't have a lot of contact with that side of my family, but every once in a while we'll meet for coffee."

Brennan had snapped alert at the sound of his voice, so relieved he was speaking to her that she felt dangerously close to tears. She could only nod, unable to trust her voice to stay steady.

Booth placed the pile of damp napkins on the table and threw some cash down, gathering his coat to leave. "I think I'm going to head out. Don't worry about it, okay? I'll see you Monday."

"Booth—wait," she pleaded, dropping her hand onto his arm to delay him. "I'd like to explain, if you'd just give me a few minutes." Her eyes were bright with emotion and the simple request pulled at his conscience, disintegrating whatever was left of his irritation.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, flashing her a small grin, "but only if you're willing to go to my place, because I've had enough of being the main act tonight and I'd really like to change into something dry."

Tucking his pea coat around the embarrassing wet spot decorating his front, he ushered his partner to the door. The entire diner scrutinized their departure but Brennan was so overwhelmed with relief that all she noticed was Booth's hand in its usual spot, warming the small of her back.

**AN: Believe it or not, this little debacle was inspired by yours truly... my one genuine talent in life is being able to publicly embarrass myself in progressively spectacular ways. So yes, I have done this. And no, I have no regrets. LOL. **

**FYI: Next chap may have a ratings change, 'cause I want some kissing. : )**


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived at Booth's apartment after a mostly silent walk, both somehow tacitly agreeing that they needed privacy to patch up the night's misunderstandings. The quiet between them wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, but Brennan's mind was whirling at a frenetic clip, sorting through possible apologies and outcomes as if they were puzzle pieces.

Booth was feeling cautious. Tonight, he felt the specter of his coma dream weighing heavily on his shoulders. If Bones was _Bren,_ he would know exactly how to soothe her jealousy, would be allowed to _prove _to her undeniably that there was no other woman in his life, in his heart. But in this delicate middle-ground that they were inhabiting, he didn't know the proper response. It was an unfortunate reality that he couldn't rely on Bones to lead him through this maze; she seemed to be lost even more deeply in it than he was.

As with any seemingly insurmountable problem, he decided, he would proceed one step at a time and trust his instinct. And at that moment, his instinct was telling him to find some dry pants.

"I'll just be a minute, Bones. Why don't you make some coffee?" he suggested, slyly alluding to her intoxication.

Brennan found a measure of comfort in the menial task; Booth's kitchen was almost as familiar to her now as her own, and there was a strange sort of intimacy in knowing where another person kept their teaspoons and mugs. Over the years she had somehow developed an odd affection for Booth's things—the everyday items that belonged to him, that were under his care. She even had a favorite mug, which sported a much-faded image of the Great Lakes that had devolved through countless dishwashings to vaguely resemble a group of amoebas. She fingered the ceramic thoughtfully while the coffee brewed, content just to be in the security of his kitchen.

He emerged just as the coffee finished percolating, clad in sweatpants and a soft-worn tshirt. She offered him his cup with an shy shrug and he steered her good-naturedly towards the couch. The silence that had seemed comfortable only a moment ago now morphed into something unsettling. Brennan sought to fill it with more apologies.

"I really can't explain how sorry I am, Booth. I'm so embarrassed..." she murmured.

"I know, Bones," he replied quietly, blowing the steam from the top of his mug.

"I just can't seem to handle myself in social situations the way a normal adult could, which you obviously know already, but... I suppose I thought that I was making progress in that regard, but tonight makes me think that... I don't know," her voice trailed off. "I'm so sorry."

"You already said that, Bones."

"I know. I've apologized, and yet, things still feel... unnatural between us, and that's my fault. And I'm just... I regret that my actions ruined your dinner with your aunt, and I'm sorry that--"

"Bones," he interrupted quietly, swiping a weary hand across his stubbled jaw. "I accept your apology, okay?"

"I can only surmise that you _don't_," she replied, "because I can see that you're still upset with me."

Booth reached for her drink and set both mugs on the coffee table. Fighting to restrain an exhausted sigh, he took both her hands between his and turned himself to face her more fully. The moment stretched as he planned his words carefully.

"Are you going to just keep saying you're sorry or are you going to tell me what _really _happened?" he asked gently.

"I've already told you, Booth. I was with Angela, and we were discussing... what I saw when I walked past the diner, and I misinterpreted the situation and I acted childishly," she explained, a note of impatience darkening her tone. Booth's odd behavior was making her nervous and this conversation wasn't going nearly as well as she'd hoped.

"Yeah, Bones, I know all that. I know what you thought you saw, and I _really _know what you decided to do about it, but I'm asking you _why._"

Brennan jumped up from the couch defensively and put several paces between them. "I told you why, Booth!" she almost shouted, her nerves strung unbearably tight.

"Wrong, Bones. You told me what and how. I want to know why you came into the diner. What your heart felt, not what your brain thought," he replied with careful control.

He was being so unreasonable, and so obtuse. She spread her arms towards him in frustration. "What do you want me to say? I was angry!"

"Angry. Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Why were you angry?"

"Because fair is fair, Booth! It's not fair that I can't date anyone and you could, okay? So I was understandably, rationally angry."

"No you weren't," he answered quietly, rising from the sofa to slowly move closer. "Not really."

She crossed her arms in frustration, feeling heat creeping up her face at his interrogation. "I'm pretty sure I _was,_" she replied saucily.

"Anger's a secondary emotion, Bones. It comes from fear, or... hurt."

"What are you, Sweets?"

Booth shrugged dismissively. "Maybe we should talk to him about this."

"What? No!" she shouted, feeling the situation rapidly falling out of her control. The sensation of being trapped was overwhelming. Desperately wanting him to just back off, she relented slightly.

"Fine. Hurt. I was feeling hurt, okay? It hurt my feelings to see you with someone else--" she amended, at the slight tilt of his head, "--with another _woman_ at our diner. The way you've always acted with my dates, sometimes it feels like... like you think that I'm so incompetent that I can't choose a decent man. Or like maybe I don't even deserve one. So I just stopped trying, Booth, I stopped dating. It wasn't worth upsetting you. So to see you there...it's conceivable that, yes, I felt... hurt," she admitted.

He nodded patiently, as if contemplating this new information, all the while slowly advancing towards her. She took a few defensive steps backwards until she felt the baseboards meet her heel. She was starting to feel physically crowded, even though he was still several steps away. She didn't entirely like the look in his eyes—something she hadn't seen before—an inscrutable combination of predatory and gentle. Her temperature seemed to be spiking from the stress of the situation and she felt uncomfortably flushed.

"You know that I think you _deserve _every good thing in the world, Bones. It was them, Bones. They didn't deserve _you._"

She looked down, trying to halt the sudden pinpricks of advancing tears. It was just that she felt so tired, so beaten down. Somehow Booth always seemed able to find the rawness that she kept so adamantly covered. "It's possible that I was just jealous," she sniffed.

"Jealousy's close, Bones, but not quite right," he said calmly, his eyes studying the stress in her face. He knew he was on dangerous ground; this conversation could end with a kick to the gut and a fleeing partner. He knew he was pushing her into ideas she might not be ready for, ideas she might never want to share with him, but she seemed so close to understanding. So close to knowing how he felt every day.

She closed her eyes, feeling exhausted beyond measure. "I was jealous because..."

"Keep going," he whispered raggedly, his breath suddenly close enough to tickle her brow, the heat of his body near enough to press against her like a physical force.

"Because maybe I have... some type of feelings for you."

"Keep going," he repeated, but this time his words were a desperate plea, his voice raw with need.

"Feelings like..." she opened her eyes, searching his for understanding, hoping he would take pity on her and not make her continue this alone.

"Love?" he whispered, all of his hopes settling in the inch of space between them.

Finding courage in the warmth of his familiar eyes, she nodded hesitantly.

His kiss shattered her heart like a dambreak, sweet and urgent and just as desperate as she felt, a moving caress of his soft lips and hard jaw that stole the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It felt so free to finally surrender the weight of this burden, to meet the hungry demand of his mouth with her own need. She opened herself to him fully, all her exhaustion suddenly carried away on a wave of pulse-pounding adrenalin. Her nimble brain went staggeringly blank as the only thought she could generate was _I'm kissing Booth.... Booth is kissing me... I'm actually, truly kissing Booth._

Booth pulled away from her mouth to trail a molten row of kisses up her neck, finding the soft flesh of her earlobe and taking it gently between his teeth. Her head fell back of its own volition, helplessly languid under the heat of his touch.

"Just one question, Bones," he growled into her ear. "Did you mean what you said about Ian?"

"Who?" she asked foggily, gasping at the sensation of his low voice rasping against her flesh.

"Good answer," he replied with a wolfish grin, finding her mouth once again for a possessive kiss that left both of them dizzily, joyously weak.

**AN: The end! I do hope you liked it, and if not, feel free to tell me why so that I may better serve you next time. : ) We aim to please. **


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